Mister Lucas
by Acadia Cor
Summary: In the wake of episodes I through III and amid a bout of depression, George Lucas is approached by a woman who offers him a unique choice. Either continue to be scorned and hated, or go back to the beginning and change the world... Frame story for my original novel The Iconoclast.


George Lucas clicked open his email and sighed, his face sinking down a few inches, despite his fist serving as a steady prop. His eyes reflected the glow of the computer monitor as the refresh rate flickered in the blackness of his pupils.

"Hacked again," he grumbled, not even bothering to open the landslide of hate mail and spam that cluttered the email account. This one had only lasted a few weeks before being infiltrated by his spiteful fans. If only they weren't so technologically savvy, then he could try having a life. Maybe he'd do away with email all together. Yeah, people can call him, like they _normally_ would in a _normal_ world. Want George Lucas to appear at Comic-Con? Pick up a phone, you idiot, he doesn't use email anymore.

He shifted his face over to his other palm, exiting out of that browser window and opening up a Microsoft Word document as he contemplated whether or not to just rewrite episodes one through three, the same routine that he had done every night for at least a month. Truthfully, he couldn't remember when he began to feel this terrible, but he truly didn't care.

"Hello, Mr. Lucas."

George whipped his head around towards the sound of the voice, his hands gripping the edge of the oak desk in sheer terror that one of his fans had wised up and hired a master assassin. He was relieved when a different person stepped out of the shadows instead.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to startle you," She was tall, a long sheet of light brown hair hanging to her waist and partially obscuring the left side of her face. Her features were sharp and refined, two violet eyes peering back at him, a small red mouth forming words. Yet, her voice was strange, the accent bordering on British, but soft, like she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"I have come to ask you a few questions, Mr. Lucas," She walked a few steps into his office, halting a pace or two from his desk with her arms clasped behind her back. "And I was hoping you could answer them for me." She cocked her head to the side, waiting for an answer.

George took in a gulp, his eyes wide. Something about the girl seemed off to him, like she wasn't from here, or anywhere else really. But despite his hesitations he nodded and she too to pacing slowly in front of his desk.

"First, I have to ask, why?" She paused, turning to look him in the eye. "Why did you change them?"

George was flabbergasted. _This_ is what she wanted to ask him? About a few silly movies? Why, he ought to have her thrown in jail simply for trespassing, let alone bothering him with frivolous questions!

"Oh no, sir, I do not mean to criticize," She shook her head softly and continued to talk in that strange, lyrical voice. "I do not mean to judge. I understand that sometimes directors have to do things that they think will," she paused, her hands brushing over the trinkets on his hanging shelves before turning back to look at him with those sharp purple eyes. "_Futher_ their franchise, even if the fans scorn it."

"Tell me, Mr. Lucas," She let her hands slide along the length of his desk, taking slow, even, and measured steps as she looked down her nose at him. "Did you think your plan was genius? That the midichlorians explained everything? The plan was…creative, I'll give you that, but have you ever heard of the saying 'you don't mess with perfection?'" she picked up an old snow globe on one of his hanging shelves and inspected it before putting it back and continuing the slow circle before stopping behind George's desk chair, her fingertips alighting on the edges of his shoulders as she leaned in next to his ear and whispered, "But there is so much more in this universe, Mr. Lucas. Secrets you cannot even _fathom_. Answers you wouldn't live to tell…"

"You see," she stood up swiftly, leaving George to wonder if her cryptic, whispered message was just a trick of the senses. "I represent an interested party," she surveyed her sharp nails, as if George's existence as a whole bored her as she walked away, back to him. "We could help you to change it all. It would be like the first three movies never even happened," she turned around and stared at him.

"So what do you say, Mr. Lucas?" Her slender hand appeared in front of him, offering the chance of a lifetime, her small quirk of a smile promising adventure. "How would you like to change the world?"


End file.
